


The Price We Pay

by castielrisingabove



Series: Season 12 Divergence [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x08 coda, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Prequel, Sad Cas, hints of destiel - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielrisingabove/pseuds/castielrisingabove
Summary: Prequel to "Forgotten," but can also be read as a coda for 12x08. When Castiel cannot find a way to find/free the Winchesters, he's confronted with a difficult decision. What is their freedom and happiness worth to him?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the support on Forgotten! I honestly wasn't intending to add anything to it, but this prequel just sort of happened.

**3 days, 5 hours, 7 minutes**

 

That’s how long Sam and Dean have been gone. And Castiel, _angel of the Lord_ , can’t find them. He’d returned to the Bunker after losing the mother of the nephilim, metaphorical tail between his legs as he braced for Dean to complain about his failure...but the Bunker was empty. The next course of action was to call Dean’s cell, then Sam’s, then both their respective emergency phones...still nothing.

Next came retracing his steps to the motel, where he found, to his dismay, the Impala. Dean would _never_ leave the Impala. Whipping out his fake badge, Cas made a convincing enough federal impersonation to be given access to the security tapes of the day they had been at the motel. He watched as they entered the motel room, nothing really happening. Then, without warning, the tape shifted to night. Cas frowned, rewinding. The time stamp jumped from 4:35 pm to 9:59 pm.

As it turned out, the footage he needed had been erased. Federal command. Which didn’t sound good.

His first call after the discovery, Castiel was ashamed to say, was to Crowley. Cas knew how unhappy the Winchesters would be in this regards. They preferred to handle things internally. But Cas couldn’t bear to worry Mary. And as much as he liked and respected the woman, Cas doubted she would be much help in the case of the mysteriously vanishing Winchesters.

“You wanna get the dynamic duo together already?” Crowley drawled over the phone, “I’m flattered, Castiel. I was under the impression you didn’t particularly enjoy my company.”

“I don’t,” Cas grumbled, sitting on the hood of the Impala. The car was another problem that needed solving, of course Sam and Dean would want it tucked safely away in the Bunker during their absence, but he figured the first order of business might be better served handling their absence in the first place. “But unfortunately, I do need your help.”

“Oh, isn’t this a wonderful plot twist,” Crowley chuckled, “What could the _great_ Castiel _possibly_ need from a _lowly_ demon such as I?” The sarcasm dripped from his voice and Castiel’s scowl deepened, brows pinching together. Despite the obvious checks and balances in their relationship, Crowley knew full well he could get away with mockery. Knowing the demon he probably went out of his way with it.

“Sam and Dean have gone missing.”

“Can’t you track them with your angel GPS?” Crowley asked with interest, “Your boy toy’s longing has to be through the roof.”

“Dean is not my boy toy--”

“Ah--” Crowley clicked his tongue, “I didn’t say which one, did I?”

Cas bit back a snarl, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I can’t just track them. They need to be praying to me. And either they have ceased praying entirely, which is unlikely--”

“--due to lover boy’s prayer sexts?”

“ _Due_ ,” Cas spat through gritted teeth, “To the fact they _both_ pray regularly to me. Which has lead me to believe they are warded.”

“Any idea _who_ would ward them?” Crowley paused, “I mean, of course there are probably loads of people who’d _like_ to ward them, but not a lot who’d have the juice…”

“I think the federal government has something to do with it.”

Static buzzed over the line for a moment, with a frown Castiel realized Crowley had hung up on him. He turned his own phone off, looking up to see Crowley standing next to him, looking very worried. “Safer to speak in person,” Crowley muttered.

“What do you know?”

Crowley glanced around the empty motel lot. Taking note of the two security cameras, he tapped the Impala’s hood. “We speak in here.”

With a sigh, Castiel rummaged in the pocket of his trench coat, withdrawing a spare Impala key to unlock the doors. Glaring at Crowley, who had been trying to enter on the driver’s side, Castiel made his way into the driver’s seat. He touched the steering wheel sadly. This moment, sitting in the driver’s seat for the first time, had always been imagined in a far different context. Dean teaching him the specific way the Impala was to be driven, the two of them soaring down the highway one dark night to find a nice place to watch a meteor shower.

“Earth to Castiel,” Crowley snapped his fingers under Cas’ nose and the stench of sulfur was more than enough to force Castiel out of his daydream. The scowl, it seemed, was permanently glued to his face. As he turned to face Crowley, Cas didn’t even bother to appear even remotely amiable.

“Why must we speak in here?”

“Look,” Crowley said darkly, “I know a thing or two about the feds. Caught onto the demon scent in ‘73.”

“Nixon?” Cas wasn’t particularly surprised.

“Exactly. Anyway. Went full on lock-down from that point on. Leave democracy to the humans, let the country stay ‘pure’, that sort of bullshit.”

“You’ve stayed out of American politics since the 70s?” Cas asked in disbelief.

Crowley laughed. “Just refined our techniques. Any demon deals are done far away from prying eyes and there are absolutely no possessions in the higher offices. Everything on the federal level is warded against demons.”

“And angels, apparently,” Cas surmised.

“New, but not surprising.”

“So how are we supposed to find Sam and Dean?”

Crowley shrugged. “We don’t.”

Castiel was taken aback. It wasn’t often that Crowley wasn’t up to the challenge. And even if he wasn’t initially prepared to risk his neck, there was always something to put on the line to convince him. As Castiel thought desperately of the things he could promise Crowley, however, the demon interjected.

“There’s nothing you can give me, Castiel. And it’s not like my life is directly on the line this time.” Crowley sighed. “Look, I’ll miss them too, but aside from the fact there are two less hunters in the world...nothing would change. It’s just speeding up the inevitable.”

“But Mary--”

“Their mother?” Crowley laughed, “Last you told me, she’d walked out because she couldn’t handle her battle-worn, adult children. Something tells me she’ll keep living.”

“We can’t--” Cas said desperately.

“We can,” Crowley, “And I, for one, plan to. My neck’s been on the chopping block far too often for comfort lately, might as well catch a break when I can.”

“Crowley,” Cas growled, reaching out to grab him, but Crowley was faster, gripping Cas’ shirt tight.

“You will not _force_ me into anything,” Crowley snarled, eyes turning red for a moment before he released Cas, sizing him up. “Much as I am loathe to admit it, I don’t mind you, angel. Would hate to hear you got killed over two hunters who, quite frankly, wouldn’t take the same risk if your life was on the line.”

With that, he was gone. Cas had to fight back tears, mulling over Crowley’s final words. Were they true? Would the Winchesters really not risk their lives for his? As much as it hurt to admit it, Castiel wasn’t entirely sure _what_ the outcome would be if the situation was reversed. Still, thinking about that only made Castiel even more sure that, despite what the Winchesters would or would not do on his behalf, _he_ had made a promise to protect them. To come when Dean called.

And even if he couldn’t hear him, Cas was sure Dean was calling.

 

**2 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours**

 

Castiel was surprised to hear his phone ring. He’d spent the last several days cooped up in the Bunker, sinking into what was surely another depressive episode. Every search he’d made had come up dry. No angel answered his prayer, the demons all hailed Crowley’s command to stay out of it, and even smaller fish in the supernatural sea, like witch covens, seemed pretty wary about the topic.

The few contacts he’d made who promised to get back to him vanished. After that, Cas stopped asking for help.

He picked up without bothering to check caller-ID, fully assuming Crowley had changed his mind.

“Castiel?” Mary’s voice was heard loud and clear over the line, fraught with worry. Castiel frowned. He’d contacted Mary via text (easier to lie over text) a week after the boys disappeared, informing her that they were on a long hunt in Northern Canada that kept them out of cell-service. Mary, it seemed, had bought the lie. Until now.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, “I can’t get ahold of Sam and Dean…”

“I told you, Mary,” Cas sighed, clenching his fist to manage some of the tension, “They’re far enough north to be--”

“I call bullshit, Castiel,” Mary snapped, “It’s been almost a month and my sons _both_ promised they’d at least get in touch once a week. The little I know about Dean tells me he’d _find_ a way to get this cell coverage.”

“Mary…”

“You’re trying to protect me, aren’t you? You think I can’t handle the truth of what happened to my sons--” her voice cracked and Castiel realized she was trying to get a handle on the assumed inevitable hunter end. Death.

That couldn’t do. Exhaling slowly, Castiel tried to steel himself. “Your sons are alive, Mary. I just…” his voice cracked, the strong facade slowly crumbling, “...can’t find them.”

There was a sharp gasp on the other end of the line. “Why didn’t you tell me, Castiel?”

“Nobody, and I do mean nobody, has been able to help me. Keeping you out of the loop ensured you were safe…”

“Where are they? Who took them? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know where they are, only that they were taken by _powerful_ federal agents who, I’m learning, have an arsenal of supernatural tricks at their disposal.”

“Where are you?”

“The Bunker.”

“I’m coming there _now_ . And you _are_ going to let me team up with you.” Mary’s voice was so certain that Castiel didn’t know what to say. She hung up and he sighed.

Hopefully the Winchesters wouldn’t hate him more for accidentally dragging their mother into the mess.

 

**6 weeks, 10 days, 2 hours**

 

Never before had the progression of time weighed on Castiel as it had now. He was an immortal being, time usually slipped past him like the sand that trickled away from ones’ feet when standing in the ocean. But now, oh, he couldn’t help but count the days, the hours, the minutes, the very heartbeats between when the Winchesters were taken and now.

Half of his job was tirelessly searching for an answer, the other half, it turned out, was caring for Mary. Making sure she got sleep, that she ate, that she didn’t throw herself into dangerous situations. He might have been letting the Winchesters down, but he was _not_ going to inevitably face them after wearing their mother down to insanity.

Everywhere they turned, another dead end. Another lead that boiled down to nothing, or worse, that ended up in a trap. Cas had expended much of his grace healing Mary’s injuries, though he always left just enough in his reserves to heal Sam and Dean too, whenever they found them.

But they couldn’t find them. And what sort of angel was he if he couldn’t find them?

It was this train of thought running through his head as he watched Mary, her form hunched, her eyes dark with lack of sleep, that he knew he had to do _something._ And fast. Nobody was benefitting from his slow and evidently worthless strategizing. Castiel reached in the pocket of his trench coat, hoping to find a package of tissues he’d stocked up on, primarily for Mary. (When Castiel cried, he ensured to do so in private)

To his astonishment, however, he bumped into a small card. Pulling it from his pocket, Castiel realized it was the phone number the agent of the British Men of Letters had given him, so many years ago. At the time, he’d scoffed at the number. Making a deal with those untrustworthy humans seemed almost worse than dealing with demons. At least he knew exactly what was on the line with a demon deal.

Still….it couldn’t be ignored that these men were _powerfully_ equipped when it came with dealing with supernatural forces. And one glance at a framed photograph of the Winchester boys (they were younger, Sam’s hair still shaggy, Dean’s face still youthful as they stood excitedly in front of a massive statue of a blue ox) sealed the deal. Ensuring Mary was not within earshot, Castiel dialed the number.

“Ah, angel, I was wondering when you’d call,” Mick’s smooth voice picked up after the second ring, “Is this call social or business?”

“Why would it be social?”

“I see subtlety is lost on angels,” Mick laughed. “What is it you need?”

“Sam and Dean have been taken.”

“Oh, we’re well aware. It’s one of the few times your government has actually done something that benefited our organization.”

“I want them back.”

Mick chuckled. “Castiel, your hunters were unorthodox. Causing trouble for us at every turn. What could you offer that would possibly _increase_ the benefits we’re already enjoying?”

“...I could erase their memories,” Castiel said hesitantly, hating himself for even suggesting the option.

“We could do that. And we would, if they were released. No, Castiel, we need more than that. What can you possibly offer?”

And that’s when it clicked. “Me,” Castiel said softly, “Your very own angel. I know for a fact you haven’t been able to get your hands on one. Heaven’s wrath would have been swift. But I’m cut off from Heaven, hated after everything I’ve done…”

“Now... _that_ is an interesting offer,” Mick breathed, “We’d be happy to do business with you. Now. Here’s what you need to do…”

 

**6 weeks, 11 days, 5 hours**

 

Castiel had erased Mary’s memory first. He’d hugged her, citing his sorrow at his inability to save her boys sooner. Confused, Mary had hugged back. That was when he’d put her to sleep and wiped her memory. She’d remember her name, and her sons, but that would be it. In a way, Castiel was relieved, knowing she’d likely be far happier without the past to weigh her down.

She’d be much better off not knowing him.

As promised, the Men of Letters provided the tools he needed to save the Winchesters. He was sent into the facility alone (there were serious diplomatic consequences, after all, if anyone from the British faction were to be caught in such a top secret facility) to retrieve the Winchesters. If he’d had full-powered grace, such a mission would have been simple...it was somewhat disheartening that he had to resort to powerful magic instead.

When he finally found the room that housed Dean, Cas paused. How was he supposed to go about this? Wipe Dean’s memory now? Later? Would a reunion with him be more or less painful? Would Dean even be happy to see him? He watched Dean for a minute from the slats of the door, observing just how miserable he looked. Of course Dean would be happier away from this life.

Castiel broke through the door and braced for the reaction.

For a moment, Dean stared in horror, taking in the situation before recognizing Cas. He sagged in relief, pulling Cas into a tight hug. Knowing what would come, Cas didn’t let go, pressing his face into Dean’s neck and praying his expression wouldn’t betray him. Thankfully, Dean was more worried about breaking Sam out to really notice.

When they found Sam, Cas was greeted with a similar hug, albeit much shorter, and he plotted their escape while Sam and Dean escaped.

In the end, they made it out by the skin of their teeth, Dean joking with evident joy about how they would have to take Cas’ Continental to the Bunker instead of his Baby. Neither Winchester noticed, in catching up with each other, how quiet Cas was. Although perhaps he’d always been this quiet. Hard to tell.

When they made their way into the Bunker, Castiel was tempted, just for an instant, to stay. They could evade the Men of Letters, they could lay low, have a life together. But as Castiel saw how the Winchesters had grown more gaunt, their faces more lined, he knew it would be selfish. They deserved to be happy.

“I have to go,” Castiel said gruffly, pulling them both into an abrupt hug, both to say goodbye and to put them to sleep. A tapped forehead and a lingering caress later, both Winchesters lay peacefully on the floor, memories fully wiped. Fighting back tears, Castiel left the Bunker.

He drove. It felt like forever, flying away in his Lincoln Continental to a remote rendezvous. The Winchesters were safe in the Bunker. Crowley had been informed to keep his distance. Everything was finally in order. Castiel had kept his promise, the Winchesters would finally have the happy life they deserved.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Mick said as Castiel stepped out of the car, bidding that too a final farewell. Cas frowned, Mitch seemed rather unhappy. In instant, two tall men stepped to his side, clamping enchanted handcuffs to his wrists. “I hope you find the deal was worth it…” he whispered mournfully.

  
There was a searing pain and as the world started to go dark. Castiel’s final thought echoed through his head as he crumpled to the ground: _Anything is worth saving them_.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are immensely appreciated! And check me out on tumblr @castielsunshinegrace if you're interested!


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